The Cerobi Queen
by sapereaude13
Summary: She tried her best not to throw her knife across the table at the man as he took his own seat. The Duke of Thracia made Al-Cid Margrace look like a eunuch. BalthierAshe. Postgame.


In all honesty, Ashe had never been all that fascinated by airships. They were a means of transport, nothing more in her estimations, but to the citizens of Archadia, airships were a religion of some sort. The Archadian she knew best sure seemed to think so.

"The Cerobi Queen awaits, my lady," Judge Gabranth murmured to her, and she turned to meet Basch's helmeted face with a grin. He didn't understand the fascination either. At present, Basch was escorting both herself and Lord Larsa through the vast Campus Bellus on the outskirts of Archades. Formerly an outdoor exhibition area for the Archadian military, the Empire at peace under Larsa's command used the fields for exhibitions of technology and less belligerent endeavors. This week, Ashe was visiting the capital for the 74th Annual Archadian Shipwrights Guild Exhibition where only the most exciting new airship models were on display.

They'd been parading through the Campus all morning, and Ashe couldn't remember anything about any of the models she'd toured. To her benefit, Larsa's usually keen and guarded face revealed that he was just as confused as she was. Ashe didn't really need to know a glossair engine from an exhaust valve. The tour of the Campus was finally complete, and now she and Larsa would be the luncheon guests of the Duke of Thracia, an Archadian aristocrat.

Basch seemed to stand closer to her than Larsa as they traveled back to the aerodrome, and Ashe suppressed a smirk at the man's concern. The Duke had been trying to court her for some months now, and Basch found the man's behavior in her presence to be "inappropriate." The last time she had been in Archades, Lord Bastian Pelletiere had even snubbed Lord Larsa by offering her wine from his vineyards before offering it to his own emperor. But Ashe could handle him – she knew how to deal with inappropriate men.

Today, the luncheon would take place aboard Pelletiere's ship, the Cerobi Queen. According to the disturbingly lengthy letter he'd sent her before her arrival in Archades, the Cerobi Queen was once the Archadian Emperor's private ship. Larsa had acknowledged this with some embarrassment, saying that his great grandfather had sold off the thing to the Duke's predecessors to satisfy gambling debts.

As they entered the aerodrome, Ashe was greeted with the sight of an older-looking, but rather lovely ship. The Cerobi Queen had a glistening silver exterior with numerous glass windows around the bow. Lord Bastian himself stepped down to greet them, his blond hair slicked back with precision and his boots spit-polished enough for Ashe to see her face in them. The Duke irritated her more than anyone she'd ever met.

"My lord, I trust you had a marvelous time at the exhibition," Bastian said quickly, immediately drawing himself up from his bow to Larsa to take her hand. "And my favorite Queen, how fares Dalmasca?"

Ashe allowed him to fawn over her a few seconds longer. "In a heat wave, Your Grace. A very deadly heat wave."

Bastian was temporarily stunned into silence, not knowing how to respond to her grave news. Instead he released her and smoothly swept his hand back to show off his ship. "Well, shall we?"

Larsa shook his head in amusement and followed the Duke up the steps into the vessel, and she could hear Basch chuckling inside his helmet behind her as she entered the Cerobi Queen. The interior was opulently appointed. The floor panels were covered with fine marble, and the walls were hung with tapestries and oil paintings. A quick glance to the nameplates on the paintings revealed them to be the illustrious members of the Pelletiere family. Bastian himself had the grandest painting. He was standing in the midst of a battlefield, sword raised magnificently as foot soldiers cheered him. Bastian Pelletiere had never been in a battle.

Bastian escorted them to the dining hall at the front of the vessel, and Ashe gasped as she set foot in the room. The entire floor was glass, and she could see the metal grating of the aerodrome hangar beneath her feet. The Duke was by her side almost immediately. "The view is far more spectacular from the air, my Lady Ashe. Not near as beautiful as yourself, but a close second," he muttered with a gloved hand to her bared shoulder. She smiled and stepped away from him, making it appear as if she were examining the dining table.

"Are we eating first?" Larsa piped up quickly to draw the Duke's eyes away from her. She never felt more grateful for the teenager's presence. Bastian nodded and moved to an intercom on the wall. He called some servants to bring out their meal and also ordered for the ship to depart.

"Thought we would circle the capital, my Lord," Bastian explained, and Ashe immediately felt a rumbling beneath her. Quickly, the metal grating fell away and all too soon, the city of Archades rose up under her feet. It was breathtakingly beautiful, but she felt like she was about to fall through the floor.

Bastian was at her elbow once again as Basch, now helmetless, and Larsa took their seats at the dining table. His sleazy voice tickled her ear, and she could see Basch waging an internal war with himself whether or not he should stand and punch the good Duke in his smarmy face.

"Oh, to be the fortunate man gazing up into the heavens at this moment, my Queen," he whispered, and Ashe wished for her Tournesol. Of course. She was wearing a dress – anyone with a good pair of binoculars could probably see her undergarments. She let Bastian hold her chair for her, and she tried her best not to throw her knife across the table at the man as he took his own seat. The Duke of Thracia made Al-Cid Margrace look like a eunuch.

The meal was pleasant enough. The Duke's personal chef seemed to instinctively know her favorite dishes – obviously planned from the get go. But Ashe was never one to reject her favorite meals, and she ate heartily. It allowed her to avoid the dull conversation about Archadian tariffs that Larsa and Bastian were engaged in. Ashe caught Basch's eyes several times throughout the meal, and she could have sworn that the Judge Magister himself stepped on her foot insistently when Bastian made a suggestive remark in her direction. She nearly choked on her wine at Basch's behavior.

It was just about time for dessert, and when it too was revealed to be her favorite type of cake, Ashe felt panic in every fiber of her being. Was this really a luncheon…or the set-up to a proposal of marriage? The beautiful setting, all of her favorite foods, the Archadian Emperor himself as witness?

"My lord," she blurted out suddenly as the tempting chocolate confection was set before her. "Where can I go to powder my nose?"

Bastian paused mid-bite in surprise. "Oh…yes, uh…please use my personal facilities, Your Majesty. Shall I escort you?"

She nearly knocked her chair down as she rose from the table. "No, that won't be necessary." She'd seen the entrance on the way into the dining hall. Larsa munched his cake in seeming amusement while Basch appeared to be stabbing the dessert with his fork as if it were Lord Bastian himself. "Please, gentlemen…enjoy your desserts."

Ashe hurried into the corridor and was grateful for the marble flooring once more. She rushed past the Pelletiere hall of fame, and the steward outside of Bastian's chamber gave her a curt nod as she approached. The man opened the door and closed it behind her. She took a few deep breaths, trying desperately to calm her panicked nerves and also to ignore the disgustingly yellow duvet on Bastian's massive bed.

The washroom door was ajar, and she walked inside and began to fumble for a light switch. Suddenly, she felt a hand over her mouth while another arm held her firmly. She tried to scream, but as the other person flicked on the lights, she knew that she recognized the scent of the attacker's cologne.

She was immediately released and heard the lock on the door get thrown behind her. Whirling around, she gasped. "Balthier!"

"Ashe! What are you doing here?" the sky pirate replied in shock, and Ashe was confused to see the man dressed in the same outfit as the steward in the hall, a navy blue coat and slacks with Pelletiere family insignia on the breast pocket. The coat seemed to be too tight for his broad shoulders, and the slacks were too short, his dark socks poking out between the cuff and his shoes.

"What are _you_ doing here?" she spat back.

Balthier moved to lean against the sink with a heavy sigh. "You first," he moaned.

She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. The sky pirate had not been to Rabanastre in several weeks, and she'd grown annoyed with him. Why should she tell him anything? Clearly his heart was not in their relationship. "I'm being wined and dined by the Duke of Thracia. Larsa and Basch are waiting in the dining…"

"Of all the rotten luck!" Balthier whined, raising a hand to his forehead in his irritation.

"What?"

He narrowed his eyes in her direction. "I'm here to steal this ship."

She could only gape at him for the next several moments while he held his face in his hands. Finally, her voice returned to her. "Where's Fran?" It wasn't the first question she should have asked, but it was the first that came to mind. Surely the Viera wasn't as foolish as her partner.

Balthier pointed to the top of his head. "She'd stand out a bit, wouldn't you say?" Ashe rolled her eyes. "She's waiting in Balfonheim with a potential buyer."

The Queen was growing increasingly appalled. "Balthier, you have a buyer waiting for a ship you haven't stolen yet?"

He moved from the sink to stand in front of her. He poked her lightly in the arm, and his touch was as welcome after these many weeks as it was annoying. "I'd be stealing it right now if you'd get out of the way."

"And kidnap two monarchs in the process?" His stupidity was alarming. Had he bumped his head on the Bahamut or something last year? "You'll have the entire Archadian fleet after you!"

Balthier seemed to be weighing his options, and she noticed that his poking finger had moved to drift up and down her arm absent-mindedly. "I'll drop you and Larsa off some place nice," he joked. "Basch can stay on as my first mate in Fran's place. You know he'd love it."

She sighed. Of all the ships to steal and of all the times to steal them, Balthier had incredibly unlucky timing. "You think Bastian will just step aside and let you steal his ship?"

The sky pirate raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "Heaven forbid I upset _Bastian_," he remarked, nearly spitting out the Duke's name in disgust. Jealousy did not suit Balthier, but her heart fluttered a bit at his concern.

"He prefers to be addressed by name," she replied defensively, finally shoving his wandering fingers away from her arm. "I like to respect the wishes of others." Even those she personally loathed, although Balthier didn't need to know that.

His earlobes reddened, but otherwise, he seemed to keep his face calm. "You know, Ashe, you outrank him," Balthier argued. "You can call him anything you want. May I suggest Lord Arse Face?"

She bit her lip. "Balthier, don't be juvenile."

His retort was silenced by a sharp knocking on the bathroom door. "Majesty, have you found everything to your liking?" came the Duke's grating voice through the door.

Balthier smirked wickedly. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "Stalking much?"

She cleared her throat. "I'll not be much longer, Bastian. Thank you." She heard his footsteps retreat once more, and she exhaled slowly.

"Thank you, _Bastian_," Balthier simpered in mockery of her own voice. His own sharp tones returned for another miniature rant. "Bastian? More like Bastard. He has one in every back alley in Old Archades, you know." The sky pirate wandered back to the sink and chuckled.

Ashe sighed. "What is it now, Balthier? I can't be locked in this bathroom all day."

Balthier held out a yellow hand towel and waved it back and forth. "My gods, he has monogrammed hand towels for your use in here."

She took the towel from his outstretched hand and examined ABD where it was stitched in blue in the corner. Ashe had to admit it was terrifying. "Perhaps they're not really my initials. Just a coincidence."

He was grinning widely now. "Oh really? What do you think ABD is then, hmm?"

She felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment. "It's clearly the name of…of the…uh, of the Archadian…towel...er, the towel making guild."

Balthier was near the large bathtub now, and he held up a larger towel also monogrammed ABD where it rested beside a BP towel. "Bath towels as well?"

She threw the towel across the bathroom at him in fury. "Maybe he's just being a polite and accommodating host!" She knew if her voice got any louder that the steward in the hall would hear their argument.

The sky pirate moved back to her and smiled. "Admit it, Ashe. You're rather horrified right now, aren't you?" She looked to her feet as he took her hands in his own and squeezed. "Come on, you want me to steal the Cerobi Queen so your friend Bastian doesn't try to show you the ABD negligee in his armoire."

She scowled at him. "How can I convince you not to steal this ship today?"

He moved them backwards until her back hit the bathroom door, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear once more. "There are a few ways that come to mind almost immediately."

She groaned in irritation, but her heart was racing. She'd had plenty of wine during her lunch, at least enough to make her a bit giddy and excitable. Balthier's visits to Rabanastre were usually the highlights of her rather dull and colorless political life, and despite the ill fit, the steward uniform was remarkably flattering to Balthier's form. As much as he annoyed her and took his sweet time between visits, she knew he was surprisingly loyal to her. Even Fran had remarked on it that last time she'd seen her.

Ashe let him move his hands to her hips, and she let her fingers graze over the pressed, stiff fabric of the steward's jacket. "I'm not consorting with you in a bathroom."

He kissed her jaw. "You have before," he reminded her. Her mind drifted back to the more confined space aboard the Strahl and of course, her own facilities at the palace…

His touch was almost too much, and she closed her eyes as he trailed small kisses down her neck. "I'm not consorting with you in _this_ bathroom."

His hand was pulling up the bottom of her dress then, his fingers running swiftly across her thigh. "Then I'll just have to steal the ship."

"Balthier," she moaned in both pleasure and irritation as his hands continued their exploration under her dress. "You have to stop." Of course, her hands were already in the waistband of the too small trousers of the steward's uniform, but he had been the one to start this game.

He sighed and moved his hands away. "Fine." He brushed his lips against hers quickly and stepped away from her. "Fine, I won't steal it, are you happy?" She was already missing his hands on her, and she nodded despite her feelings to the contrary.

"I think it's best you avoid an international hostage crisis," she murmured, smoothing her dress until it looked the way it had before she'd wandered into this situation. His eyes were dark and hungry for her, and the thought of actually making love in this bathroom didn't seem so very wrong. And that was exactly why she knew they could not.

"You're breaking Fran's heart talking me out of this, Princess," he remarked, the slightest tremor in his voice.

"Fran's heart, hmm?" she replied, gripping the doorknob to keep herself from launching at him to finish what they had started. "What will you do then?"

He seemed to be holding the sink tightly to avoid the same thing. "Suppose I'll just hide in here until we dock." He bit his lip. "Staying at the palace, I imagine?"

Her heart was still racing, and she felt ready to collapse. "Until tomorrow evening, yes."

Balthier stepped away from the sink and approached her once more, but the second he was in her space, there was another knock on the door.

"My lady, are you ill?" This time, fortunately (or unfortunately, she mused) it was Basch.

"No, I'm fine," she called back weakly. "Just need another minute."

"We'll be in the aerodrome in ten minutes. Thought you'd be glad to hear the happy news," the man joked, and she sighed in relief as he walked away.

"Since when does Basch have a sense of humor?" Balthier inquired teasingly, brushing his fingers against her cheek.

She leaned into his touch and smiled. "He's always had a sense of humor. You're just too busy listening to your own jokes that you missed out on his."

He kissed her then, and she gripped the sleeves of the silly steward's jacket. She didn't need her favorite meals. She didn't need monogrammed towels. She certainly didn't need the Cerobi Queen. All she needed was right in front of her, much as it always surprised her to admit it. When he finally released her, she smiled. "Do me a favor, Balthier."

"Not stealing the ship isn't enough of a favor, my lady?"

She grinned. "If you happen to find your way to the palace tonight, bring the uniform."

He quirked an eyebrow. "You're a strange woman." He moved behind her and unlocked the door. Balthier brushed his fingers against her lips and walked back to the sink with a bit of a spring in his step. He grabbed the monogrammed towel and waved it once more. "I _will_ steal this, though."

Ashe didn't wait to watch him stuff the towel inside his jacket and departed the washroom. When she rejoined the men in the dining hall, she felt much better than she had when she left. If the Duke had wished to propose, he had no time left to do so as she could see the aerodrome quickly approaching.

"We thought you got lost," Larsa teased her as she approached.

Bastian stood by her side as the ship docked, and she smiled. "I guess I did lose track of time." She gave the Duke a coy glance and winked. "I just loved the towels, though."


End file.
